


Hey, Chickenshit!

by SinMother



Category: Cancer Crew, Multi-Fandom
Genre: Gay Chicken, Little bit of angst, M/M, gay pining, mostly maxian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinMother/pseuds/SinMother





	Hey, Chickenshit!

It had started with a night of rigorous drinking, as most things did. In the end, it was Max who had started it, spurred on by a “Are you guys fucking gay or something?” from George.

“Y’know, I think we can figure it out…!” He was slurring, loud, but his words were legible. “Gay chicken. Whoever gets the least embarrassed has the biggest metaphorical balls, boys!” Ian had to stifle a chortle at the suggestion. Surely he was joking, or at the least too drunk to realize what he had suggested in it's full implications. But Ian was drunk too, feeling the buzz, and George was too, if the way he agreed so suddenly and aggressively said anything.

“I'll outstand you queers no problem. Bring it on!” George was grinning, and his voice was somewhat reminiscent of his Frank persona during the exclamation. Max shot Ian a look, one that was sloppy and drunk and suggested wordlessly they were in it together now, for this. Ian couldn't help but swallow dryly at the gaze, but the pink flush of his cheeks was only there from the alcohol, obviously...Yeah. And then Max had all but forced himself onto George, who was unable to help from laughing.

His hands were splayed on George’s chest, and there was a light in his eyes, bright and dangerous. George may have been too drunk to notice it, but Ian wasn't, the way Max was moving his hips so fluidly, giving some kind of lap dance, awkward and inebriated. It almost seemed too fluid to be impromptu, as if Max had been practicing or something. Fucking queer, Ian thought, though it was distant as he tried to move next to George on the sofa. It was the point of this whole challenge, after all. Yeah. Ian realized, once he got close, that Max was muttering, quiet and breathy.

“How about I bounce up and down on that cock of yours, huh?” God, that was...surprisingly filthy. Honestly, Ian expected some kind of angry or humorous retort from George. What Max got instead, was an equally heated (even if fake) response, in a gravelly tone that either of them had never heard used by George before.

“Yeah baby, you know what I like..” Ian felt a pang of something in his gut, immediately brushing it aside as disgust. Nope, definitely not feeling jealous, that would be gay as all hell. Regardless, he was supposed to be helping Max with cracking George. Max, who was trailing the pads of his fingers down their friend’s torso, down to his stomach, with a soft ‘mmm’. He sure was playing this up. And if Max could do it, Ian could too. Forcing back his hesitation, Ian leaned in to put his hand where Max’s had been on George's chest, finding the space rather warm. He then leaned in, and let out an obscene sort of groan, shuddering and close to George's ear. Max’s hips jerked a bit when he heard it, but neither Ian or George noticed, too wrapped up in their respective roles in this game they had started. George huffed a bit, but forced himself not to jerk his head away or turn it. Or move much at all, for that matter. It seemed he had to put a lot of effort into not flinching away. They were teaming up on him, and he hadn't expected it. The bastards. 

And then, Ian, who was currently letting out hot breaths over George's neck, gave in to his current commitment and pressed a heated kiss to the skin. Yes, there was tongue, and yes, he could taste the sweat there. They were all sweaty, and whether that was from the alcohol, the hot weather, or an entirely different heat altogether remained to be seen. George was going red, but he hadn't officially chickened out yet, trying to remain stoic. But then, Ian started to suck a mark in the crook of his neck, just as Max slid fluidly to his knees and reached for his pants to start to get them off, fumbling in his wasted state. Yup, George was not going to win this. This was too fucking gay for even him, it seemed too genuine, even, and his pride would not allow him to get any more hot and heavy with these two. So he pulled back from Ian, and kicked a leg firmly at Max, knocking him onto his rear on the floor.

“Ok-ay!! I get it, you two are fucking fags, cut it out!” His voice was almost shrill, and Max started laughing, an airy sound from where he was all but sprawled out on the floor. 

“Knew you wouldn't be able to do it, Georgie boy! What, you scared you'll bust a nut?” George kicked Max again, this time in the shin.

“Shut the fuck up!” 

Ian realized with a start that he was kind of just sitting there, blankly. He really should've laughed too. But it was too late. Max quickly turned his head, mussed hair finding new position over his shoulders. All eyes on Ian now, and he coughed a bit. “You,er...Seems like you're used to giving lap dances or something, Max.” Smooth. It held near none of the taunt he wanted it to, but he hoped the alcohol would excuse it. It did, and Max sneered.

“Ah shut up, cunt! You're just pissy cause you're gonna lose!”

“You're real sure of that, are you? Can't wait to prove you wrong.” There. There was the bite he wanted returning to his voice. Max grinned, almost slyly.

“Try me.” And with that, Max moved to his knees on the floor and moved towards Ian. Crawling, eyeing him like he was some sort of treat, and then standing up as gracefully as he could under the influence to loom over Ian. George snickered, and Max shot him a look, which lead to George grinning, wiggling his eyebrows, and then leaving for the kitchen. Presumably to get more booze. Or, he was hungry. Not that it mattered to Ian anymore, because Max had his hands on his shoulders and was moving to straddle his thighs. Fuck, why was Max so good at that? It was like it was second nature to him or something, some kind of slutty muscle memory. Ian forced himself to focus, letting his hands press to Max’s ribcage, running down to meet his hips. Max didn't even flinch, didn't seem flustered in the slightest. If anything, it only seemed to spur on his desperate act more.

Ian could feel himself getting seriously flustered. Somehow all of this seemed so much more intense than anything they had ever done for a video. Maybe it was just the alcohol. Probably. He didn't have much time to think on it before Max moved his hips, a sort of desperate jerking motion with a moan to match, brushing deliberately over Ian's groin in such a way that he wasn't able to deny felt damn good. It took all Ian had not to make some sort of humiliating sound. Holy shit. To distract and distance himself from what was happening, he busied himself with moving his hands, sliding them around to rub up along Max’s back, pulling his shirt up a bit. If either of them thought too hard on it, it would be over, some overwhelming realization was sure to make them stop. Even if it meant losing. 

And Ian really didn't want to lose.

So, he pulled one hand back, using it to grip the front of Max’s shirt, tugging him down into a forceful kiss. Forceful, even if drunk and sloppy. It was a classic move in this sort of challenge, and usually it was effective. Though, this time, it didn't seem to be the case. Because Max kissed back almost immediately, equal determination at both ends of the exchange leading it to become more and more heated. Their tongues played at each other, wet and velvety, the occasional sigh or groan being the only sounds in the room besides their hasty breathing. 

Ian realized with a jolt that he was enjoying this, despite himself. Something about the slow and languid movements of their mouths against each other, the heat, the alcohol-fuelled desperation all combined into one simmering cocktail of god-I-want-this. It was, honestly, a little fucked up, in his eyes. He really needed to get Max to give up, if only to avoid this sort of thing happening again. It had only been a moment of him trying to figure out what he could do to Max to get him to back off on his own when they were both stopped in their tracks.

The sound of heavy footsteps had somehow not met their ears until George was standing in the threshold of the room, gawking at them in a sort of shocked amusement. This wouldn't have stopped what was going on if it weren't for their friend speaking, exasperated.

“Can I please be in here without having to watch you fuck?”


End file.
